


Not at All

by youreyestheyglow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Smut, maybe not so much angst as sad memories, mentions of marco, more similes than I know what to do with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren was away for a little while, and he and Jean missed each other.<br/>Sad, gay, and steamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not at All

TV this late at night is always shitty. There’s no point in watching, really. You should just go to bed. There’s no point in waiting up, Eren told you not to.

But. Before the past few days, it had been a long time since you’ve had to fall asleep without him. And you’re not going to lie and say that you didn’t already try to fall asleep alone. Because you did. And it was impossible. It’s always the same – Marco’s grinning face in your peripheral vision, the music blasting as you speed down the highway, that strange tightening in your chest that’s supposed to pass but doesn’t, the bright green and sharp black and the sun glinting off metal blurring together into a whirlwind of colors that don’t exist and then pain, so much pain, you can’t breathe, and you look over, and Marco’s arm is fifteen feet away from his body and the paramedics are trying to restart your heart instead of get him out.

You sink lower into the couch as an infomercial tells you that you need exercise equipment in your apartment. “Fucking liar,” you grumble. “I’m a lazy sack of shit and my husband likes the damn gym better.”

Footsteps thud down the hallway.

Keys jingle outside your door.

You know you have at least a double chin from the way you’re sitting and you know your glasses don’t cover the bags under your eyes and you know your stomach is curled up so you’ve got rolls instead of muscle and even your nipple piercings don’t look good in this lighting and you know you’re probably the least attractive you could possibly be without actively attempting to look like a troll. You’re probably the worst sight to come home to.

Eren’s face falls into the creases of familiar laugh lines that you could draw with your eyes closed when he sees you. “Missed you.”

You almost miss the box when he throws it at you, barely preventing it from colliding with your chest. You hold it up and read it in the glow of the TV screen. “Thin mints,” you murmur. “ _Excellent_.”

You almost don’t have the time to drop the box on the floor before Eren throws himself at you, suit jacket gone, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned. He catches himself on your shoulders instead of your chest so he doesn’t kill you before lowering himself flat against your body.

You feel a puff of warm air against your neck as he melts into you. “I hate it when they make me travel.”

“Seconded.”

He picks up his head so he can look at you. “Did you sleep at all?”

You stretch the half-inch required to kiss him. “Nightmares.”

He brings his face closer to yours so you don’t have to lift your head and sighs against your lips.

“I’m just gonna tell them to stop sending me away. They’ve got plenty of other people who can drive out to other states to do quality checks. It’s not my job.”

His fierce golden eyes look almost green in the blue light of the TV, the same light that throws some of his facial features into sharp definition and the rest into shadows. You run your hand through his hair, watching the shadow of your arm alter his face and block the light from his eyes so that their golden sheen is unaltered by the unnatural flickering glow.

You pull him down to kiss you again. His lips are welcome but dry, and you run your tongue over them and it doesn’t matter anymore. Eren sucks on your bottom lip and pulls more of his weight onto his hand until his head is level with yours instead of below it, and you can feel the zipper on his work pants dragging across the thin cotton of your boxers. “Fuck,” you hiss as your heart leaps, and Eren, the ass, smiles before grinding his hips down into you and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You slide your hand down to his hips, tracing the top of his pants, grinning when you feel goosebumps rising under your fingertips and nearly laughing when Eren shudders.

Eren retaliates by abandoning your mouth for your neck, tonguing your pulse, and you arch against him as your eyes flutter shut of their own accord. He rolls his hips against you, and you drag your nails down his back until you reach his ass, grabbing it and squeezing it as you yank it closer to you.

“Jesus, Jean –” Eren moans. At seven in the morning when he stumbles out of bed with your name on his lips he makes it sound beautiful, and now, drawn-out and breathless, rolling off his tongue like water, it sounds like a hymn, and you drink it up like you haven’t had a drink in three years.

“Why are you still wearing _pants_ ,” you gasp out, heart pounding, as he settles between your thighs.

“Because you’ve got a death grip on my ass,” he reminds you breathlessly before nipping at your collarbone.

You release him – sadly – and he pulls himself to his knees and fiddles with his belt buckle, the end of the belt slipping out of his fingers twice before you brush his hands away and do it yourself. He pulls his shirt over his head, and two seconds later, your heart is frantically trying to maintain a steady pace while you’re examining the way the television light plays over his stomach while you unbutton his pants, watching the light dip lower and lower on his skin as you hook your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and pull it down, the flat plane of his stomach rounding out to become thighs, the thin trail of dark hair growing until it reaches the base of his cock, pulling free from its confines half-hard already.

Eren’s chest heaves as he pants, and one of his hands comes up to slide through your hair, tugging a little as you lean forward to catch your tongue on the piercing below the head of his dick, prodding it before dipping down to pull the head into your mouth, one of your hands cupping his balls and the other gripping his thigh so you can feel every muscle spasm and shudder that shakes his body.

His hand twitches in your hair and then he’s pulling, pulling you back and off, bending over you and pressing you backwards so he can pull your boxers down, kicking his pants off and out of the way as he settles between your thighs again.

You dig your hand into the couch cushion and dig out lube and the last of the condoms.

“Gotta remember to put more condoms down there,” Eren mutters. The lube on his finger is lit up in red as the TV flips to a heart disease commercial.

The red disappears between your legs and becomes a sensation instead of a color, a cold discomfort that slides inside your body at a painfully slow pace perfectly matched by the slow kisses Eren drops like snowflakes over your jaw.

It warms up quickly, Eren warming your throat with open-mouthed kisses and your own body heating up the lube, even as Eren adds a second finger for you to warm.

You pull in deep breaths, your heart racing, trying to relax as Eren’s fingers stretch you out, scissoring and curling until they hit that spot that makes your heart practically stop for a moment as your vision bursts into stars and you keen Eren’s name like a stuttering heartbeat into the space between you.

Eren captures your lips, effectively silencing you for a moment during which the only things you’re aware of are your pounding heart and the third finger Eren’s slipping inside you. You’re almost ready, you can feel yourself stretching easily around him, the discomfort melting into pleasure faster than ice melts on a hot stove. “E-Eren – _please_ –”

Eren slides his fingers out of you and traces a line up your dick as he mouths at one of your nipples, tugging gently on the barbell and on your cock before glancing down to align himself properly.

He slides into you, achingly slow, filling you and stretching you just right, like his dick was made for your ass. He pauses when he’s fully inside you, resting his forehead on yours for a second.

You place a hand on his neck. You can feel his pulse racing beneath his skin, a horse galloping with no finish line in sight and entirely unwilling to slow down.

He sets a burningly slow pace, rocking his hips back and forth in a gentle, fluid motion, bringing the heat in your stomach to a simmer long before it rises to a boil, his warm breath on your lips a reminder that he’s burning up just like you are, his pulse under your hand running the same race as yours, neither heart pulling ahead or falling behind. When your pulse picks up, his does too, his hips keeping pace and driving the breath out of you, hitting that spot repeatedly, forcing you to throw your head back, your hand pulling his neck towards you as your heartbeat thunders in your ears and disappears in a bolt of lightning that sweeps through your body and winds you up around Eren, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body in an attempt to hold him closer for those few seconds that last an eternity and end far too soon as Eren shoves his face into your throat and muffles his scream in your skin.

He pulls out after you unlock your limbs from around him, his head settling at the base of your throat and his legs tangling with yours.

You reach up, groping around the top of the couch for the blanket that you know is there before pulling it down over the two of you to keep you warm as your hearts slow down and your bodies cool off.

You reach down and grab the box of thin mints.

The plastic is loud, even with the TV on. “Want one?”

Eren makes a face. “Oh god, they’ll make me sick.”

You smirk. “Not my fault you ate two boxes on the way home.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“You’d never have gotten just one box for the two of us.”

He huffs. “You know me too well.”

You brush your fingers through his hair.

Years ago, Marco promised you that you’d have his heart forever.

Now, it sits in your chest, beating in place of your dysfunctional one.

It used to feel like a betrayal, using Marco’s heart to love someone else.

Eren closes his eyes, his arms wrapped around your neck.

You don’t think Marco would mind that his heart belongs to Eren, though. Not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> congrats to anyone who picked up on all the heart shit


End file.
